


Of Agents and Assets

by FrostyFingers



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Jealousy, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 16:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18720934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyFingers/pseuds/FrostyFingers
Summary: After Liz thwarts Red's attempt to take their relationship to the next level, he draws a brand-new line between them, in concrete. The angst will be strong and the rating will change to M at a later point.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Re-upload because someone for some reason unknown to me, decided to have this fic deleted...

They'd had dinner at one of his safe houses that night. The conversation was light, and both were comfortable in the presence of the other. As it was getting rather late, Dembe had turned in, leaving them alone. Liz sat on the corner of Red's overstuffed sofa, and he was right next to her, but closer than usual. His arm stretched out behind her, resting on the back of the couch, and his eyes were fixed solely on hers. Liz could feel herself starting to blush.

"I should go," she said.

"No," he replied immediately. "Stay."

Her blush deepened and the tone of his voice didn't do anything to ease her nervousness. What was going on with him tonight? He had been touchy feely ever since she had stepped over the threshold.

"Why?" She got out.

The fingers of his hand gently touched her back, the tips running lightly over her shoulder. "Because I want you to."

"Uhm," She started fidgeting, and she knew it. Drawing in a deep breath, she pressed herself against the arm of the couch and turned to face him. "Look, I'm a federal agent and you're a wanted criminal. We work together. You're an asset. Nothing else."

Liz could see something crumbling in his eyes, but his face stayed expressionless as he dropped his hand and leaned away from her. He nodded to himself and stood from the couch, putting some space between them. "It's getting rather late, and you should go. Goodnight." With that he turned and left her sitting in the living room of his borrowed home.

She was confused to say at last. Had he just dismissed her? He had never thrown her out of his house before, not once. This was new and she didn't like it at all. He was probably just fed up with her, because she had told him off. But really, what could she have done? She could've gone a little easier on him though, because a man with a bruised ego could be anything but pleasurable to be around.

Shaking her head at his unusual behavior, Liz got up and pulled on her coat, before she exited the mansion and drove back to her motel.

She hadn't heard from Reddington in two days, ever since that dinner at his place, but she didn't get why he was making such a big deal out of this. He must have known, even before she had told him, that she wouldn't want to have a more defined relationship with him. She didn't want him, that was what she kept telling herself, though every time she did, her heart would constrict painfully in her chest. It was the right thing to do though. Everything she had said had been true well, no, not everything. But she knew that a relationship with him could never happen. It would only end badly, and then it would ruin everything they had accomplished so far, all of their work. She couldn't let that happen, especially for something carnal, because that was all that he wanted anyway, right?

Sex. The idea of having sex with this man had been stuck in her head for what seemed like the moment she had met him, when he was strapped to that chair like a wild animal. Of course she found him attractive. Anyone in their right mind would. There was something about him that just pulled you in, and you couldn't escape once he got you. She was pretty sure that he wouldn't say no to a night together, no strings attached, of course, but she also knew that she wouldn't be able to do that. Casual sex wasn't something she did. She wasn't like him.

The ringing of her cell violently pulled her out of her thoughts. She took the device in her hand and looked at the caller ID, feeling her heart rate picking up. Taking a breath to calm herself, she pressed the green button and held it to her ear.

"Yes, Red?"

"Hello, Agent Keen," the voice on the other end greeted.

She almost groaned out loud. "Hello, Dembe. Does he have something for us?"

"There's some new information for you, yes."

Liz was already walking towards the elevator. "I'll be at the safe house in 15," she told the man.

"You don't have to," Dembe started. "I can drop it off at the post office."

"No, that's okay. I need to get out of here anyway. I'll see you soon." With that she hung up and made her way over.

When Liz arrived at the safe house, the tall bodyguard opened the front door for her and lead her through to the living room. Red was sitting at the dining room table, dressed in his trademark three-piece suit, minus fedora. He looked way too appealing for his own good... or rather, for hers. When he finally looked up, the FBI agent was taken aback by the indifferent look in his eyes, and the fake smile he shot her.

"Agent Keen, please sit." So, they were back to formal.

"Red," she greeted back, refraining from using his last name as well. Liz sat in a chair diagonally from him. "You have something for us?"

"Why, yes," he replied. "Dembe." The tall man walked up to them and handed his employer and friend a manila folder. "Everything you need to know is in there."

Liz took the folder from his hand and was about to flip through it, when a woman walked up to them. She wore a short dress, barely reaching her knees, which was hugging her form tightly. Red stood immediately, shooting her a brilliant smile.

"I'm sorry, am I late?" She asked as she stepped up to him.

"You're right on time, dear," he replied, before he pulled her to him, kissing her on the lips.

Liz could feel the green monster rising up and her heart clenched tightly at what she was witnessing. She watched as the pair settled down next to each other, with Red's arm wrapped around the woman's shoulder, while the blonde's hand was somewhere under the table, and she didn't even want to know where.

"Who's your friend, darling?" She asked with a smile.

"Where are my manners? Catherine, this is Elizabeth Keen, my insurance agent. Miss Keen, this is Catherine."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Keen."

Liz gave her a strained smile. "You, too," she answered shortly. "I'll get going then."

"Why don't you stay for lunch?" The blonde asked.

She would rather throw herself off a cliff. "No, thank you. I've got a lot to do." Liz wanted to scream and throw things, preferably at the man sitting in front of her, who was already kissing over 'Catherine's' neck. Liz could feel the heat creeping up her face. She had to get out of there and fast. "Enjoy your meal," she said and started making her way out of the room, while trying hard to blank out the sucking noises and the groan that escaped Red's throat. She did not need to see this.


	2. Chapter 2

Liz found her foot heavy on the gas as she fought to create as much physical space between herself and THEM as she possibly could. She rolled the windows down, allowing the stinging DC cold to quickly numb her face and hopefully keep her eyes from watering any further. She cursed aloud over the fact that it was so early in the day, and that she had no choice but to return to work.

With the envelope tucked under her arm, Liz kept her head down and made a beeline towards her office. She clenched her jaw to suppress a groan at the sight of Ressler sitting at his desk. "Keen!" he nearly shouted, pushing his chair back. "What do you have for us?"

Liz plopped down behind her desk, her expression impassive. "I don't know yet." She bent back the metal fasteners to open the envelope.

"Didn't you talk to him?"

"No, he was busy." She spat out the last word as if it were a distasteful and illicit curse.

"Busy doing what?" he pried.

"What's with the third degree? When did it become my job to keep tabs on Reddington?"

Ressler's fingers tapped loudly on his desk. "HIS job is to talk to you. If he isn't talking to you, then he isn't doing his job."

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Then you'll have to take that up with him, won't you?"

"He only talks to you, Keen!"

"Well not today, apparently," she replied in a sarcastic, patronizing tone. "And if you weren't asking me all of these stupid questions, then I would have already looked at this," she added, holding up the envelope.

Ressler narrowed his eyes and abruptly stood up, crossing the floor to leave. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back and said, "Then I guess I'll just leave you to it."

She squeezed her eyes shut and called out to him, hating herself as she did. "Wait, Ress! I'm sorry. I know you're just bored, waiting for the next case. We all are. I'll find you after I finish going through this stuff."

His expression softened. "It's fine. Everything okay with you? Did you guys have a fight or something? Is Tom back?"

"When are we not fighting? That's the norm." She shook her head ruefully. "No sight of Tom either. I'm just getting a migraine. I'll be fine."

"Well if you need it, I still have a few oxys in my desk."

"Thanks, but I'm going to pretend that you didn't say that."

Exiting, he replied, "Suit yourself," and then softly closed the door behind him.

With a sigh, Liz put her elbows on the desk, and cradled her head in her hands. Migraine, indeed. With the slightest blurring of her peripheral vision, and a dull ache behind her eyes, she was almost certain that she really did have one coming on, and fast. After taking three deep, calming breaths, she opened the envelope and pulled out a small stack of papers. As the words on the first page came into focus, she dropped the papers and gripped the edge of her desk.

It was a contract, outlining the rules for a strictly professional partnership with Red. No more lines in the sand. No more anything that could disappear with a breath of air, especially the heavy breathing of two lovers. The contract set a brand-new line, this time in concrete. Her eyes rapidly scanned page after page of details, until she finally reached the very last line: Red's signature, and a blank line next to it for her own.

Liz felt small. So, so small.  
No, worse than small. She felt inconsequential.  
She felt inconsequential, and damn near worthless.

Months ago, when Naomi had told her that it was all a game, she couldn't bring herself to fully believe it. He was supposed to help her find answers to questions that she hadn't even thought to ask. She was supposed to help him to do the same, somehow. She was supposed to be a key, not a pawn.

Now this. If they spoke only of blacklisters, and only by phone or at the post office, then how could either of them ever find answers? HOW?

The contract seemed to suggest that those questions and answers didn't even exist. Perhaps his old friend, Sam, had told him that his daughter was joining the FBI, and Red saw only an opportunity to gain immunity for his crimes. What if he's just a man that can't handle rejection? What if it wasn't personal, and this contract was nothing more than a grandiose display of smug laughter?

But if so, then where did Tom fit into all of this? Red had been right about her fake husband. He was right when he told her that her life was a lie. Months later, when confronted by incontrovertible proof that Tom wasn't real, that's when she finally came to trust Red. But maybe Tom was in on it. Maybe Red had hired him too, and for that very purpose. There's no telling how far his reach extended. Maybe that was what Sam had wanted to tell her, right before Red snuffed him out. She thought back to the moment when she was handcuffed to the bannister of their old home. "He's not who you think he is," Tom had said. Again, the words hung heavy in the air around her, just as they did in the moment that he had said them.

OR maybe Red was only trying to prove a point. Maybe the contract was meant to show her that a strictly professional, "agent and asset" relationship wasn't going to work for them. If so, then he was right. This wasn't working.

At all.

Something else finally clicked into place. This is why Dembe had wanted to deliver the envelope. This is the reason that Red had looked at her and spoke to her the way that he did. He didn't want to see her. He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want to interact with her in any way, shape, or form, unless it was absolutely necessary for work.

No, not "didn't want," but "doesn't want," and not just now, but ever.

Ever.  
Forever.

Liz couldn't deal with this. Not here. Not now. Stuffing the offensive documents back into the envelope, she got up and searched for her partner. The bright fluorescent lighting in the war room forced her to squint her aching eyes. "Hey, Ressler. Sorry, it's nothing for us. He found some old photos of my father. Probably supposed to be a peace offering. I don't know."

"Damn. That's too bad, but it isn't... it isn't just about being bored, you know? Chasing down blacklisters is the only thing that takes my mind off of Audrey." He lifted both hands to clasp the back of his neck, sighing heavily.

Yes, Audrey, yet another casualty of Red's game. Like Meera. Like Luli. Like Sam. Who among them hadn't lost someone or something at the hands of Raymond Reddington? Liz's lips pressed into a thin line as she met his eyes. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"You really do look like hell though, Keen. You should go home and try to sleep it off. Cooper's at lunch. I'll tell him for you, when he gets back."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Thanks, Ress. I owe you one. I'll see you on Monday."

"No, you don't. It's okay, and Keen? Feel free to call me over the weekend, if you need anything."

She offered a small, pinched smile. "Thanks. I'm sure I'll be fine."

Within minutes of her arrival back at her motel room, Liz's phone buzzed. She expected it to be Cooper, but she tightened her grip on the device to stop herself from throwing it when she read "Nick's Pizza" on the caller ID. No way she'd answer. He could go to hell. She set the phone down on the nightstand and climbed on top of the bed, stretching her arms upwards to tear down the collage of photos and crap that she had put on the ceiling. She gritted her teeth, peeling every last piece of tape while her phone continuously buzzed. That bastard must have called at least three times in a row.

She hopped off of the bed when the buzzing finally stopped, and closed her eyes, blindly pacing back and forth in front of the window until she worked up the nerve to see if he had left a voicemail message. Knowing what he wanted, she wouldn't have to suffer through the curiosity to call him back.

Upon seeing that he had indeed left a message, relief immediately swelled within her, and she hated herself for it first, even before she hated him. A fist clenched at her side as she lifted the phone to her ear and played the message.

"Agent Keen, I trust that going home early didn't stop you from signing our little contract. I wanted to offer you the PROFESSIONAL courtesy of giving notice before sending Dembe to retrieve it. He's on his way now."

Liz's fingernails dug tiny crescent moons into her palm as her fist tightened further. That son of a bitch! If he knew that she had gone home early, then he obviously had yet another tail following her. His precious little professional contract should forbid such an invasion of her privacy.

Actually, on second thought, it was perfect. She had already decided not to sign it. Now, she had a reason to give for that decision. She didn't have to worry about the real reason, and she wouldn't. Not yet, anyway. She still couldn't even admit it to herself.

She quickly called him back, before her anger could be further dampened by her nerves, but he didn't answer. She refused to make herself look desperate by calling more than once, so she left him a message. "Please call Dembe and tell him not to bother making the trip. I'm not signing it."

She rolled her eyes as she hung up. He's probably too BUSY with Catherine to answer the damn phone. Well, fine. She'd rather save Dembe the trouble of driving over, but if need be, she had no qualms about returning the document unsigned.

Less than two minutes later, her phone buzzed again. Nick's Pizza. She answered on the third ring, "Keen."

"Agent Keen," Red slowly drawled, "Why won't you sign? Is this not what you wanted?" His voice lowered further, but the tone remained ice cold. "You know that I always try to give you what you want."

She bit her lip as a chill raced down her spine.

Catherine's singsong voice fluttered through the background. "Raaaaaaaymond, I'm ready. I don't like it when you keep me waiting."

Liz wanted to throw up.

Red briefly moved the phone away from his ear as he replied to her, loudly enough for Liz to hear every word. "Sweetheart, I promise that I'll make it worth your while." He put the phone back to his ear just in time to hear the involuntary, strangled sound that bubbled up from her throat, but he didn't acknowledge it.

"Listen Reddington, I'm sorry if I offended you the other night, but that wasn't my intent, and this isn't necessary."

He chuckled. "Offended? Hardly. Plenty of beautiful women are more than happy to share my bed."

"Yes, I can see that," she hissed.

"But you didn't answer my question. Why won't you sign? Is this not what you wanted?"

"Obviously, you still have a tail on me. If you want to define our rela- our partnership with a contract, then I suggest adding a clause that forbids the invasion of my privacy, because THAT is extremely unprofessional."

He was silent for a moment, considering the merits of her demand, but she was impatient. "Hello?"

"Very well. I'll have an amended contract delivered over the weekend."

"Great, but-" She stopped mid-sentence, realizing that he had already hung up.

Liz closed her eyes again and blindly felt her way along the wall, into the bathroom. With her body racked by shuddering sobs that only served to increase the pressure behind her eyes, she dropped to her knees and offered up the meager contents of her stomach to the porcelain god. In that moment, she was grateful for exactly one thing: She'd been staying in the same crappy motel room for months, meaning that it had been at least that long since anyone else had used the bathtub, and it had been sterilized many times since then. Her migraines, she knew, were often caused by rapid dilation of the blood vessels leading to her head. It was her body's cruel, sadistic response to stress.

She hauled herself up to her feet, grabbed her complimentary ice bucket, and trudged down the hall to fill it at the machine. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had a vague awareness that Red's tail could still be watching. Just for him, she held up her middle finger for several seconds as she walked, hoping that he had caught it.

Back in her room, she dumped the ice into the tub and turned on the cold water. She had the perfect playlist for such an occasion, but as she turned it on and took off her clothes, she didn't allow herself to dwell on how sad that was. A long, cold soak was probably her only hope of constricting the dilated, throbbing vessels. It wasn't until she was fully submerged and holding her breath that she remembered that Red had taught her the remedy.

It was on the night that he had given her the music box, and let her cry in his arms for at least an hour. After a wave of nausea had her running towards the bathroom, he followed, and made the suggestion. She thought that he was crazy, but he was just so fucking insistent and self-assured that eventually, she agreed to try it. Afterwards, when she had emerged, shivering but pain and nausea-free, she found the terry bathrobe that he had laid out for her, fresh and warm from the dryer, but it smelled like him, and she wanted.

She wanted.

She wanted exactly what she still wants, even now, even though it's the very last thing that she should ever want, because it has to be the absolute worst possible thing for her to have.

Him.


	3. Chapter 3

This wasn't the first time that Red had inflicted pain upon his Lizzie, and it wasn't the worst of it either, but doing it intentionally? That was new. That morning, when he finished drafting the contract, his best friend looked him in the eye and called him an idiot.

He wasn't wrong.

Red could only stare back at him, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. Out of pity and compassion, Dembe went on to say that he didn't think that she would sign it. The pseudo-mea culpa was good enough for Red, and it was more than he deserved. He could only hope that his friend was right.

That was the point, after all. He needed her to finally admit that they were more than the mere sum of their government-appointed titles. He knew that Lizzie's career was important to her, but it was SHE that was important to him, and vitally so. Had he come on too strong? He didn't grope her. He didn't kiss her. He was a gentleman. That night was the culmination of months of mutually-reciprocated flirtation.

But she shut him down, ice cold, before he could even make a proper move. Yes, being turned down had stung, but sexual rejection wasn't at the heart of their problem, and he didn't expect her to JUST have sex with him anyway. He probably gave up too easily, but he was wide open there. They could have talked about it. For fucksake, HE WANTED TO TALK ABOUT IT. THAT'S WHY HE ASKED HER TO STAY.

But if she is ONLY an agent, and if he is ONLY an asset, then they had nothing to discuss anyway. If they had nothing to discuss, then he couldn't bare to even look at her. Her swift rejection had brought him to his knees, and if he couldn't find the strength to stand up soon, then he probably never would.

Minutes ago, when he listened to her message, and heard that she hadn't signed the contract, he first breathed a sigh of relief. It worked! Dembe was right! She UNDERSTOOD, just as he hoped she would.

Or so he thought.

And Catherine called out for him, at the very worst possible time. Why did he even answer? Why did he feel compelled to rub Liz's nose in it? Oh god, he was so disgustingly, disturbingly, detestably smug.

But Lizzie's refusal to sign the contract wasn't about understanding. No. She just wanted to cram him into an even smaller box.

After hanging up on her, Red shuddered and ran a hand over his scalp.

That horrible gagging sound that she had made... like his hands were around her throat. It only lasted for a second, but he immediately knew that his regret for that moment would be long-lasting.

He phoned Liz's protective details and told them to stand down for the time being.

From down the hall, Catherine called out to him again, "Raaaaaaaymond."

Raymond Reddington is still a man of his word. He set his jaw as he stood up, slowly making his way back to her. After closing the door behind him, he turned off the lights and pulled down the drapes, blanketing the cavernous room in black. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Caitie." His fingers quickly flicked open the buttons of his vest and dress shirt. "Will you do me a favor?" he asked, his voice little more than a low, titillating rumble.

"Anything for you, baby," she cooed.

He dropped his trousers and slipped into the bed beside her. "This time, call me Red." His lips captured hers before she even had a chance to reply.

Rather than rushing through intercourse with his unwitting surrogate, Red took his time. He dragged it out, dedicating himself so thoroughly to her pleasure that Catherine would probably get the wrong idea. He pushed the thought from his mind, along with her real identity. He could worry about all of that later.

For right now, within the darkness of his borrowed bedroom, he could at least try to pretend that he hadn't encouraged the woman who held his heart to squeeze it, draining from him every last drop of blood. He could pretend that Lizzie's lips tasted like peppermint and strawberries. He could pretend that it was her teeth sinking into his neck as he thrusted into her. He could pretend that the cries being muffled by his chest had actually spilled from the lips of the woman that he loved.

The longer he dragged it out, the longer he could pretend that he wasn't losing her all over again.

...-...-...-...

Liz emerged from her ice bath smelling of lavender and feeling bereft, but the symptoms of her migraine were waning. She pulled on a pair of grey yoga pants, along with Sam's ancient Queen concert t-shirt, and headed down the hall to refill her ice bucket, this time giving zero thought to Red's tail. Back in her room, she filled a plastic bag with ice, and then laid down on the bed, resting her head on the ice pack instead of a pillow. She was bored.

So bored.  
So bored already, and lonely too.  
Damn the weekends. Even "playing house" on the boat with Tom (as Red had so eloquently phrased it) was better than this.

She detested the bareness of the ceiling, but taking that stuff down was the right thing to do, if only for her migraine. Focusing her eyes on anything would surely renew the nausea and pressure. In moments like this, when she felt lonely and lost, she usually found herself on Red's doorstep. He'd welcome her in, offer a drink, and tell her story after story, until they both forgot about how isolated and miserable they were... even if only for an hour or two, but she could listen to him talk forever. Her enigmatic bon vivant would never run out of things to say. Of that, Liz was certain.

Before she had even fully registered what she was doing, she slipped on her red peacoat and a pair of flip-flops. Sitting in her car, in the motel parking lot, she clutched the steering wheel and tried to talk herself out of going to him. This was wrong. It went against everything that she had not only told herself, but told him as well. Those words were not meaningless. They MATTERED, and she had meant them. She really had. She still did.

Didn't she?

Liz thought of the white BMW that she had seen while leaving Red's safe house that afternoon. It wasn't there when she arrived, so it had to belong to his courtesan/sugar baby/girlfriend/whatever in the hell that woman was to him. With that thought, her decision was made. If the car was still there, then she would leave. If it wasn't, well then maybe... MAYBE she would go in.

The Dale City mansion wasn't very far from her seedy motel, but in this concrete jungle, there were no scenic routes. Liz settled for the most circuitous, time-sucking path instead. The district's unending traffic and construction made that easy enough to accomplish.

She used the time to try to think about what she might say to him. Now THAT was difficult. Even she couldn't understand what she wanted, or what she felt, but she was sorry, and she wasn't going to sign a new version of that contract. He shouldn't even bother revising it.

And not if, but WHEN he wanted to know why she wouldn't sign? Well, she'd just turn it around on him. She'd ask why it was so important to him. She'd demand that he tell her why he had written it in the first place.

Liz wasn't aware that she had been holding her breath until she felt the air rushing from her lungs all at once. The white car was still there. It hadn't moved an inch.

Immediately, the combined weight of her dichotomous feelings made itself known. She put her car in park on the shoulder, diagonally across the street from the sprawling mansion. There, she pushed her seat all the way back, doubled over, and cried into her own lap with loud, heaving, I-don't-give-a-fuck sobs. She had no choice but to get it out before she could safely drive back to her impermanent home.

When she finally stopped bawling, she dried her eyes with her coat sleeve. As she slowly sat up straight again, wincing at the rebirth of pressure behind her eyes, she turned her head to give the mansion one final look before she left. With a strangled gasp, the air was once more violently sucked from her lungs.

Catherine was outside, leaning against the white BMW, watching her. Liz's jaw trembled as she slowly met her eyes, but she only blinked.

Catherine only blinked,  
and stared back at her with cold, narrowed eyes.

"Bitch," Liz mouthed, hoping the woman could read her lips. She put her foot on the brake, squeezing the gear shift to put her car back into drive.

But it was stuck.

She squeezed it frantically, jerking forward and back with both hands, but it wouldn't budge. From the corner of her eye, she could see Catherine power-walking towards her. Apparently she really could read lips.

The woman tapped on Liz's window with a perfectly-manicured red fingernail. "Hello, insurance lady?"

Oh. Right. She's just Insurance Agent Keen, to this woman.

"What are you doing here?"

What is this bitch's angle, anyway?

Liz plastered on a tight smile and slowly turned to face the woman. "Just having some car trouble."

"Is there something going on with you and Raymond? Did he tell you when I was leaving? Were you just waiting for me to go so that you could go in?"

Waiting for her? Red, trying to be sneaky, juggling two women? Liz tipped her head back, laughing. It was just so absurdly, perfectly hilarious. With the dam broken, she couldn't will herself to stop. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, and her sides started to cramp. When she managed to lift her eyes to the woman again, the sight of her self-righteous, indignant posture sent Liz into another fit of laughter.

"WHAT? What's so funny?"

"It's just," Liz tried. "It's.." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, not trusting herself to keep a straight face if she looked up at her again. "If you think that Red would have any qualms about having more than one girlfriend at a time... God, I mean, have you even met him? I'm not trying to say that he WOULD want more than one girlfriend, but IF he did, then they would know about each other, and they wouldn't care. He doesn't have the time or the energy for that kind of unnecessary drama, especially considering how, and this is a direct quote that he actually said to me today, he 'has no shortage of beautiful women' that want to share his bed." Liz paused, awaiting Catherine's angry retort, but was instead met with only silence.

As the seconds ticked by, Liz's curiosity got the best of her. She opened her eyes and saw Catherine's brow furrowed and her lips pursed. Hm. She was surprised that the woman's face could actually emote through all of that botox and collagen.

Finally, she spoke, "What did you just call him?"

"Huh?"

"Raymond. WHAT did you call him?"

Well, at least now Liz was able to look at her without laughing. "I called him Red."

"That son of a bitch... Maybe I really don't know him, but here's something that YOU should probably know: I've already made him come five times today. I wouldn't expect him to have much left for you, except for the fact that he asked me to call him Red, in bed. Seems he wouldn't have to ask you that, since you already do."

Fortunately, without awaiting a reply, Catherine turned on her heel and stormed off. Liz had been rendered utterly speechless anyway.

It soon occurred to her that if she wasn't going inside, then she needed to leave before Red or Dembe noticed her car. Catherine had given her a lot to process, and she'd have to do that before confronting him. She decided to give the gear shift one last try before caving to call Triple A. Without the pressure of being trapped by Red's friend with benefits, her mistake was made painfully obvious. The seat was still pushed back, and her foot had only pressed the brake about halfway.

Merging onto Interstate 95, Liz found herself thankful for the heavy traffic. Preferring to sit in traffic over sitting alone at home couldn't be a good thing. Just the same, Liz was too relieved for self-deprecation.

As far as she knew, the only witness of her breakdown was Catherine. Red would have come outside if either he or Dembe had seen her. The tail, on the other hand, could be a problem, and she should have considered that before she ever left the motel. If she had been tailed, then her whereabouts have already been relayed to Red anyway.

She should come up with an excuse, just in case. That would be the smart thing to do, but her mind wasn't there yet.

The fact that Red had asked Catherine to call him by his nickname probably meant nothing. A LOT of people called him "Red".

But had Red also suffered the failed conquest of any of them within the last few days? Probably not.

There was also the question of whether or not Catherine would discuss their little chat with Red. Her telling of the story would no doubt be skewed towards her own favor. Would Red believe that, or would he believe Liz? It shouldn't matter. It wouldn't affect the quality of their work.

It especially shouldn't matter that Catherine had gotten him off five times over the last few hours. Once, five times, or ten- it's all the same to Liz, really. Zero times zero still equals zero. As for the untold number of times that he'd returned the favor? Liz imagined that it was more than five. Perhaps twice as many, even.

Of course she wasn't REALLY imagining it.

No.

In Liz's imagination, she was a participant, not a spectator.


	4. Chapter 4

When Liz got back to her motel room, she immediately flopped face-first onto the bed. FIVE TIMES? That vapid human botox bubble had to be embellishing. Although Liz really didn't want to have the image of that woman all over herâ€¦ on Red, the knowledge of him asking to be called by his nickname during intercourse laid heavy on her heart. Was he really thinking of her while having sex with someone else? It couldn't be true, but what if it was?

The shrill ringing of her cell phone startled her into nearly falling from the bed. Grabbing the offending device from where it was lying on her nightstand, she answered the call. "Keen."

"Hello, Agent Keen."

It was him. Of course it was. Liz felt goosebumps making their way across her skin. At the low tone of his voice, a shiver ran down her spine. "Reddington." Two could play this game.

During the heavy, awkward silence that followed, Liz could picture his jaw clenching. She knew how much he hated the stuffy and formal use of his last name. No doubt he was annoyed already. "I'm just calling to let you know that I'm on my way over."

Her heart starting banging inside her chest. "What? Why?"

"As requested, I've amended our contract."

Liz pushed down the urge to scream. "And you're dropping it off yourself?"

"Why, yes, Agent Keen, I do sometimes take care of business myself."

His words stung, almost as bad as hearing him call Catherine 'sweetheart'. Aware of her boiling anger, Liz stood from the bed. "You can give it to the doorman."

She imagined the fire blazing in his eyes. Did he have to be that attractive, especially when he was angry? "I'll be there in ten minutes," he said, ignoring her demand, and hung up.

Liz began to pace the length of her motel room. She was nervous, more than nervous, anxious actually. These recent events had been tiring. She hated fighting with Red, hated how much he could hurt her, hated that she apparently could hurt him just as easily. She hadn't meant to make things so complicated between them, hadn't meant to shut him down like that, but she was scared, so very scared. Not of him, but a possible relationship between them. If she was being honest with herself, she had been thinking about that for a while. She knew first-hand just how good he was at making a woman feel like she was the center of his universe. What he managed to make her feel was incredible, especially considering that they weren't even an item, yet. No, not 'not yet', she chastised herself. They weren't an item, period. They could never be. For one thing, Red was in a relationship now, but they had other reasons too, of course. For example, there was also the tiny problem of what he was, a criminal, while she was an FBI agent. She didn't understand why her heart clenched whenever she was reminded of that.

As the seconds ticked by, it became harder and harder for her to breathe, and she was sure that her heart would soon jump out of her chest. Red was really coming over, after five rounds of steamy sex with his girlfriend. He was bringing a contract that she had wanted, practically a restraining order, really. They were JUST working together. She was JUST an FBI agent and he was JUST an assetâ€¦

She had apparently lost track of the time and only barely stopped herself from shrieking when a sudden knock pulled her back to the present. Liz took a deep breath and almost ripped the door open, revealing a perfectly dressed Raymond Reddington, with a manila folder in his hand.

"I told you to give that to the doorman."

"And I told you that I would be there in ten minutes. Here I am," he replied dryly, sidestepping her and walking into her small motel room. With a loud sigh, Liz closed the door and motioned for him to sit. "No, thank you. I won't be long anyway." He held out the folder for her to take. "Your-"

"I'm not signing this! Do you have any idea how ridiculous you're being?!" She interrupted, pacing the floor, her arms wildly flying around. Her skin was flushed, and loose strands from her ponytail had fallen around her face. "This is the stupidest thing you've ever done. How can you even think that I would sign this? It's unbelievably childish." Her voice was higher and faster than normal, but Red could hear the slight tremor in her words. She looked at him then, but quickly turned away again, walking towards the window.

She hadn't been quick enough though. Red saw the tears in her eyes, and an icy fist closed around his heart. He hated seeing her hurt, and knowing that he was the one hurting her made it even worse. Red wanted to be the one that made her happy, the one that made her cry in joy and not in pain. Watching her slumped shoulders, he dropped the hand holding the envelope and sighed heavily.

"I don't want you to sign it," he said softly.

He heard her sniffle once. "What?"

Red threw the folder on the bed and walked towards where she was standing. He wrapped his arms around her midriff and hugged her to him. "I don't want you to sign it," he said again. "I never did."

She leaned back into his chest, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body. "Then why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm an idiot," he answered, eliciting a small laugh from her. "I'm sorry, Lizzie. That whole contract idea was just idiotic. I was trying to call your bluff, hoping that you wouldn't want to sign it. I was hurtâ€¦ and I wanted you to hurt as well. I'm sorry."

Covering his hands on her abdomen with hers, she squeezed them once. "It's really my fault. I hurt you that night. I didn't mean to, Red. Iâ€¦ I guess I was scared. I still am."

"Why would you be scared, sweetheart?" He asked. For the love of God, he couldn't fathom why she would be afraid of him.

"I don't knowâ€¦" She said and he believed her. "You're not just an asset."

He gently leaned his head against hers, loving the way her hair smelled of peaches. "What am I then?"

It took her a moment to find the right words as she struggled to come up with a fitting description. She could think of no better word than "More."

He huffed a laugh. "Lizzie."

"Red."

Her uneasiness was oozing from every pore, and so he slowly rocked them left and right to calm her down. "Sweetheart, I need to know."

Liz sighed and pulled his arms more tightly around her body. "I don't like it when you call someone else 'sweetheart'," she confessed.

A smile graced his features as he let her words warm him from the inside. "I don't like it either," he whispered, placing his lips against her temple. "What do you want? What do you really want?" Her breath hitched at the question. "What is it, Lizzie?"

"I had a dreamâ€¦ no." She broke off, her blush deepening.

Brushing his nose over her ear, he made sure that his warm breath would ghost over her skin. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice a low rumble. He knew what that tone did to her.

"No."

"Elizabeth." He tightened his arms around her and pushed his mouth against her ear. "Tell me."

Her breath came out raggedly. "I had a dream thatâ€¦" She broke off as his thumb started making small circles under her shirt. "Iâ€¦ was in bed." Red hummed at that. "Tom was there."

She felt him tense behind her. "I don't think I like this dream anymore."

Liz turned her head slightly and pressed it to his cheek. "He had a gun. You came and shot him. You saved me, again."

"I'll aways save you," he told her immediately.

"I know. Anywayâ€¦ I was still in bed and you walked up to me."

He snuggled further against her then. "Keep going."

"You touched my knee and asked me what I wanted, what I REALLY wanted."

Here and now, Red wanted to touch her knee, among other places. "And what did you answer?"

"I just woke up."

"In that case, let me ask you again. What do you want, Lizzie?"

"A love that's real," she answered honestly.

His heart skipped a beat at her words. His lips lightly touched her exposed skin where neck met shoulder. "I want that too. I want to be that for you." He felt her shiver at his words. He moved his mouth further up her neck, sucking slightly on her pulse point.

"Red," she breathed out, but he didn't react until she pushed herself away from him, breaking the embrace. "We can't. This isn't right."

"Lizzie," he groaned in frustration.

She didn't look at him as she crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "You can't do that to her."

The man shook his head in confusion. "What?"

"You have a girlfriend, Red. We can't do this. You're not the man that would cheat on a woman, and I won't be the other woman, some mistress."

Before he could stop himself, Red barked out a laugh, earning himself a raised eyebrow and a glare. He was still chuckling to himself, when he stepped up to her again. Red placed his hands on her waist and smiled at her. "Sweetheart, I'm single. You should know that after all, mh?"

Liz bit down on her bottom lip. "I don't understand."

His grin widened. "Catherine called me. Told me about your little encounter. The way you acted all jealous, possessive even. My, Lizzie, I didn't know you had it in you." Her cheeks were tinted in a faint pink now. "Do you know how beautiful you are when you blush?"

She shook her head slightly. "What are you saying?"

"Besides that you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen?" He asked. "Lizzie, I don't want anyone but you." She gasped at that. "Come here," he said softly, pulling her closer again. "Do you know what I've been dying to do for a long, long time?"

"No," she replied breathlessly.

Red cupped her face between his warm palms and gently brushed his nose against her. "Lizzie," he whispered. "Lizzie." He slowly lowered his lips to hers, only ghosting over them. "Lizzie," he spoke again, before he finally pressed his mouth against hers, kissing her like he had yearned for.

It only took her a few seconds to comprehend just what he was doing, and when she did, Liz threw her arms around his neck to pull him even closer. The fingers of one hand grasped onto the short, but suprisingly soft hairs at the back of his head, while the other hand had a death grip on the collar of his jacket.

Red let his right hand glide over her cheek and into her hair, gently fisting some of her silky strands and pulling her even closer against him. He started gently nibbling on her lips, loving the soft moans he elicited. His thumb stroked back and force over her jaw as his tongue gently traced over her bottom lip, asking for entrance, which she gladly granted him. He slipped his tongue into her welcoming mouth, moaning loudly when he touched her warm and wet flesh. He bit, nibbled and sucked on the muscle, moving his mouth passionately over hers and putting months of pent up emotions into the kiss. Only when the need to breathe became too much, both pulled back reluctantly, but stayed close nonetheless. Red leaned his forehead against hers and smiled into her hooded eyes.

"Let me be your real love."

"Yes," she replied just as softly, before she leaned back in to seal his lips with hers.


	5. Chapter 5

When they pulled apart, Red caught a brief flicker of darkness in Liz's eyes as she hastily turned her head to the side, resting it on his shoulder. "What is it?" He asked.

Thumbs anchored through his rear belt loops, she tightened her grip, staying close, but made no reply.

"Lizzie?" His tone sharpened with concern.

She shrugged, embarrassed and conflicted.

He carefully extricated himself from her grasp, took her shoulders and stepped back. "Talk to me."

"Just something your girlfriend said," Liz whispered, avoiding his eyes as if she were revealing a shameful secret.

"Do you mean something that you said? Lizzie, Catherine wasn't my girlfriend. We slept together occasionally, but nothing more. What did she say?"

"Really? She seemed a little possessive, and angry... Maybe that's because I laughed at her."

"Did you?" He chuckled and pulled her back to his chest again. "Well, what did she say that bothered you?"

She sighed and relented, "FIVE TIMES, RED? Did that really happen? Five times in one day? It's a little... intimidating. I'm not sure if I can.. measure up."

"Five times what? I don't understand."

Maybe she was lying then, Liz thought. Wouldn't he have known what she meant? Oh well. She knew that he wouldn't let it go. Might as well just say it. "She said that she um, made you climax... five times today."

Again, Red laughed, but much louder this time.

"Forget it, then."

"Seems I already have," he replied, dryly. After several seconds of silence, he realized that she needed further explanation. "I'm afraid she exaggerated."

"Oh?" Liz pulled back to study his face.

"Five for her, perhaps, but twice for me."

Liz scowled. She wasn't fond of the mental imagery, but she couldn't very well take it out on him. It was her fault for bringing it up. She walked over and sat down at the foot of the bed, patting the empty spot next to her in invitation.

Red sat beside her, quite pleased to not have to put any space between them. Eyes closed, Liz's head immediately dropped to his shoulder, and he lifted his hand to comb his fingers through her hair. "You look tired," he said. "Maybe you should get some sleep."

"I am." She nodded. "Sleep with me?" As soon as the words left her mouth, Liz winced, cheeks flushing sanguine. "I didn't mean..."

Red kissed the top of her head and replied, "I know what you meant, sweetheart, and I'd love to, but the Sheraton's not my scene."

"Oh... right."

"Share my bed instead?" he asked.

"That depends... do you have another one? Just not the one that you..." She didn't even want to finish the sentence. Maybe it was childish, but Liz knew that she wouldn't sleep well in their sex-scented linens, no matter the thread count.

"Several. I'll let you choose."

She lifted her head just enough to plant a kiss on his jaw. "In that case, I'm in."

"Be advised that I'm not a sound sleeper. All night long, I'm either rolling, kicking, or cuddling."

"I can deal with that."

"And I usually prefer to be the big spoon, unless... no, nevermind, you probably don't want to hear that. Too much, too soon."

Liz grabbed his hand and waggled her eyebrows. "You know very well that you wouldn't let me pull the 'nevermind card'. Spill it!"

"You may soon regret making that demand. Are you sure?"

This, of course, only made the question even more enticing. He had to know that, she thought. "I am."

"Alright, well, I very much enjoy being the little spoon, should the big spoon's hands have the inclination to wander..." He pursed his lips and batted his eyelashes in mock innocence.

"Hmm... Is that an invitation, Ray?"

"That would be awfully presumptuous, wouldn't it?"

"Might be. It is very forward." Liz found the thought alone deliciously enticing, and she blushed again. Glancing up at Red's grin, she suddenly felt emboldened. "What do you wear to sleep?"

"Mmm Lizzie, you've surprised me." He smacked his lips. "And here I was, worried that it was too soon for that topic."

"So... we've entered a world in which you're the naive, innocent one? How does that feel?" She paused to laugh, and then added, "You still have to answer."

"It feels titilating, actually, and I wear as little as I can get away with. I'll let you make that call."

Liz's fingers twitched in anticipation. "Hah! You would." Suddenly, she felt a little self-conscious about her own sleepwear. Sam's tshirt. The yoga pants. Both were comfy, but neither were particularly sexy. Oh well. She wasn't planning on having sex with him just yet anyway.

"Are you okay with leaving now?"

Her eyes quickly scanned over the room, deciding whether or not she'd need to bring anything with her. "Yeah, sure. Um, why don't you just go ahead? I'm gonna grab a few things, and I'll be right behind you."

"Okay." He stood up, kissed her temple, and left.

Liz quickly pulled off Sam's shirt, replaced it with a red spaghetti strapped tank top, and then swapped out her plain panties for boyshorts that matched the tank. It seemed like a safe balance between sexy and dowdy, right in the middle. She then emptied her gym bag and threw in a change of clothes and some toiletries.

Out in the parking lot, she saw Red leaning against her car with his arms crossed, waiting for her. "This isn't what I meant by 'go ahead'. I was going to meet you there."

"Oh. I misunderstood. Since I waited, allow me to drive anyway?" He wasn't insisting though, which was somewhat unusual, and Liz appreciated that enough to go along with it.

"Okay, sure." With a hand on her lower back, he lead her towards his car and opened the door for her.

Back at the safe house, they found Dembe sprawled out on the living room couch, drinking a beer and watching Cheers. He did a double-take when he saw Liz step out from behind Red, and she caught his gaze as it zeroed in on her overnight bag. Whatever they had just become (a couple?), it seemed awfully sudden for someone else to know about it already.

Dembe wasn't just any "someone else" though, Liz reminded herself. He's Red's number one, right-hand confidant. He knew a lot more about Red than she did. Heck, prior to this moment, he probably even knew more about their relationship too. Most recent case in point? That stupid contract.

He smiled and waved, "Good evening, Agent Keen."

Liz blushed and flashed an excessively-toothy grin. "Hey there. Call me Liz." It wasn't the first time that she had told him that. In fact, it had become their standard greeting, up until about a month ago when she had given up. It seemed like an appropriate moment to give it another shot, and Liz had a feeling that it might actually stick this time.

In an attempt to seem breezy and unfazed by the situation, she exclaimed, "Oh I love this show! Sam Malone is still my favorite Red Sox player."

Red scowled and shook his head as if he were offended. "You're kidding."

"Yes, Captain Obvious. It's hard to seriously make such a claim about a fictious character."

Red's chin lifted, masking his vaguely bruised ego. "TouchÃ©."

"I'm a little surprised, Red. I never pegged you for a sports fan."

"I'm not. The Red Sox are different! Anyway, shall we go choose a bed?"

Liz blushed again, her eyes darting between Red and Dembe. "Yes, let's."

She picked a room on the third floor, facing the backyard. It bore a striking resemblance to the rooms in so many of Red's other safe houses. It was dimly lit, decorated with a palette of earth tones, a persian rug, heavy drapes, and an expensive painting hanging over the four-poster bed. Liz was drawn to the room for one particular reason- the bed's gauzey canopy, which seemed endowed with a whimsy that was slightly out of place.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Liz walked over towards the window and kicked off her yoga pants, pretending to be preoccupied with the view outside. She could feel Red's appreciative gaze on her backside, and stood still for a moment, giving him ample time to look. When she turned around, the enraptured expression on his face made her legs unsteady. Within seconds, he closed the gap between them and pulled her close for a deep, languid kiss, his hands slipping down to her ass, pulling her tightly against him. The sudden contact made them both gasp.

When he pulled back, Red said, "Do you mind if I go take a shower real quick? You can go ahead and hop into bed now, if you'd like. I'll join you right after."

"Yeah, no problem." She made no mention of it, but Liz had been hoping that he would do exactly that, to wash off whatever remained of that other woman. She climbed into bed and closed her eyes. Within seconds, a salacious thought entered her mind. What if he wasn't only showering for the usual, "getting clean" reason? Maybe he was... taking care... of himself. After that kiss, it would be understandable. Oddly enough, Liz found the thought touching, pun not intended, if he was exercising such self-control for her sake. She was tempted, so very tempted to sneak in to find out. He'd even left the door cracked!

She maintained mastery over her curiosity for all of two minutes, and then slowly crawled to the edge of the bed, as if worried that he could somehow hear the sounds of the mattress dipping under her displaced weight. She peeled back the canopy and eased her bare feet onto the floor. Tip-toeing towards the bathroom, she stopped in her tracks as another thought dawned on her. If her suspicions were correct, then what exactly did she intend to do about it, anyway? Offer a hand? She almost snorted aloud. That would be crazy. Ridiculous, even. And despite the day's events finally turning in her favor, she still hadn't completely forgiven him for that stupid stunt with the contract.

Curiousity won, so before pressing on, Liz decided that either way, she would do NOTHING about it. She wouldn't do anything, and she wouldn't say anything. She'd just turn back around, hop into bed, and pray that he wouldn't catch her blushing.

With one hand on the door, she pushed it open slowly, breathing a huge sigh of relief that the hinges didn't creak. The built-up steam rushed out, but Liz could hear nothing over the sound of the shower, so she tiptoed closer, and stuck her head around the corner.

BRILLIANT, LIZ!

The shower, rather than being enclosed by a curtain, was instead enclosed by glass, and only the bottom half was frosted. She caught a glimpse of the side of Red's head, but as far as she could tell, he wasn't "taking care of himself". Immediately, Liz turned on her toes and ran back to the bed, pulling the covers up over her head. Shame and embarrassment swirled deep in her gut. No chance in hell that she wasn't blushing. Not knowing whether or not he had seen her, she did her best to pretend that she had fallen asleep.

Minutes later, Red strolled in wearing only a towel around his waist. He evidently wasn't fooled into thinking that she was awake. "Have you given any thought to my sleepwear?"

She rolled over to face him and swallowed at the sight before her. That chest hair was just begging to be touched. She bit her lip. "Hm? I'm sorry, what was that?"

He cracked a smile and patiently repeated himself.

"Oh, right. I guess just... just your boxers would be fine." No chance she'd want him to cover that chest, but being totally nude seemed like too much of an invitation.

"I'm not shy about my body, you know."

God, OF COURSE he wasn't. Why on earth would he be? "I've no doubt."

"So if you wanted to check out the goods, no need to be shy about it."

"Actually, 'the goods' are still a mystery."

"So you're saying that you weren't in the bathroom ten minutes ago?"

Shitshitshit! He knows. No sense in denying it. "No, I was."

"I know. I felt the cold air rush in, and you left the door wide open."

"I just.. I had to pee."

"But you didn't."

Thinking fast, she replied without missing a beat, "Oh my goodness, after realizing that you'd be able to see me? That's a little outside of my comfort zone." She wasn't thrilled about lying to him, but at least he couldn't prove that it wasn't the truth.

"Fair enough. Well, if you'll excuse me one last time, I'll grab those boxers from the other room. Unless, of course... that won't be necessary." He grinned, eyebrows waggling suggestively.

"Nice try! Go get 'em."

As she watched him go, Liz saw what she'd secretly been dreading- the burn scars. Along with his tattoos, they were noted on his FBI dossier under the category of "distinguishing marks". The cause wasn't included, but she had a pretty good idea. They were breath-takingly awful, far worse than she had imagined. When he disappeared from her view, it occurred to Liz that she didn't even check out how his ass had looked in the towel. The fact that she had noticed the scars before his ass spoke volumes about just how bad they were.

She could barely suppress the urge to ask about them, but she'd already been punished enough for one day's curiosity. If he happened to bring up the subject on his own, then she was more than happy to listen. Otherwise? Some other time, then.

That meant that she'd have to trust Red implicitly, and not just about this, but about everything. In many ways, she already did, but her heart was still vulnerable. Unconditional trust wasn't exactly "easy come, easy go". It never had been, and it never would be.

Red soon returned with a little spring in his step, apparently pleased by the way that she was looking at him. His smug grin was toothier than usual. Cocky bastard.  
He peeled back the canopy and crawled into bed. Lying on his back, he pulled her in closely with an arm around her shoulders. Liz positioned herself on her side, her head resting on his chest, and her knee hitched up to rest on his upper thighs. Her free hand gravitated to his shoulder, squeezing and pulling herself closer.

"I love this canopy. It's like we're in our own little bubble," Red said.

"Yeah, me too. Our cocoon. Our nest. Our secret hideaway. Just... safe."

Red extricated her hand from his shoulder and held onto it, lacing their fingers together. "No blacklisters. No distractions. Just us. I think I just found my new favorite place."

Curiosity struck once more. There was still so much that she wanted to know, and not just the things that linked them, but the little mundane facts that come gradually and naturally while getting to know someone intimately. Being unable to ask about the big things, the little ones suddenly became inordinately important. One by one, Liz began to softly ask questions, but Red seemed too engrossed in his tactile exploration to answer. He had dropped her hand to first wander the length of her ribcage, and then the smooth plane between her hip bones. She enjoyed his touch too much to be annoyed by the silence.

"Where did you go to high school?"

"What was your mother like?"

"What was her name?"

"What did it say under your senior yearbook picture?"

"Who was your first Iove?"

"When did your heart first get broken?"

"Where were you born?"

He gently reclaimed the arm that was around her shoulders and turned on his side to face her. "Des Moines, Iowa."

Grinning, Liz grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss. He seemed to melt under her lips, humming with delight, and so she scooted closer and wound an arm around his back, holding him tightly.

Suddenly Liz pulled back, panting and apologetic. The confused disappointment in Red's eyes tugged at her heartstrings. "Wait, I'm sorry. Is it okay if I take a rain check on where this is headed? It's just so..."

"Soon?" he asked. Liz nodded. "Of course it's okay, sweetheart. Here, turn over. I'll be the big spoon." As she complied, he brushed aside the hair that covered her neck, and gently kissed her carotid pulse, holding her close. "Thank you for giving me a chance, Lizzie." It took him almost two hours to fall asleep, but he didn't mind at all.

Liz woke just before sunrise to find a very solid and fast-asleep Red pressed against the small of her back. It wasn't a surprise, and no, she certainly didn't mind. The tough part was deciding what to do about it, if anything at all, but one thing was clear. Red had a lot for her to be curious about, and to be honest, that was exactly what Liz had expected.

She gently redirected the hand at her waist up to her breast and used light pressure on the back of his fingers to get him to squeeze it. Since he had told her that he wasn't a sound sleeper, she thought that it would be enough to wake him, but it wasn't.

Oh, to hell with it. In his bed, Liz concluded, good fortune probably favored the bold. She leaned back against him and wiggled a bit, using his hand to grope her harder. Red sighed and tightened his grip, pulling her closer and eliciting a gasp. Startled by the sudden realization of who he had in his arms, he recoiled, not yet knowing that an advance would have been welcomed.

Liz sighed and rolled over to face him, lightly tracing her fingers along his jaw before leaning in for a kiss. "Good morning," she whispered, and then deepened the kiss before he had a chance to reply. She was still a little nervous, but it somehow only added to the thrill. A shiver raced down her spine as she slowly lowered one hand between them.

Red caught her wrist. "Are you sure? A few hours ago, you said it was too soon."

"It was, and now it's not." She met his steady gaze and held it, as if she were accepting a challenge.

Perhaps for the first time, Red recognized her as an equal, and his eyes ignited instantly. In his heart, she was still perched upon a pedestal, but he no longer feared that he might break her. If anything, it seemed more likely that she could break him, but he was more than willing to take that risk.

He gripped her hips and pulled her on top of him. Liz rocked forward onto her knees, hovering as she raked her fingers through his chest hair, moaning into his mouth.

THIS was really happening, and reality had already surpassed her dreams by far. Unlike the dreams, Liz knew that she would walk away satisfied and slightly sore.

Red grabbed the hem of her tank top and lifted it up, over her head, and tossed it to the floor with panache. As he took in the sight of her breasts, Liz widened her knees and sank down. He gave her a moment to grind against him, dropping his hands to her ass, pulling her in and increasing the pressure with every rock of her hips.

The intensity of the moment took her there quickly. Just before she started to shake, Red flipped her onto her back and then rolled over on his side. Her frustrated groan was cut short by his mouth on her breast, and his hand lightly skimming under the waistband of her panties. Her hips lifted to meet his touch.

"Are you trying to rush me?" he asked.

"Who me?" Liz replied, smirking as she ineffectively tugged at his boxers. "Haven't I waited long enough? Don't you want to make love to me?"

"Yes, maybe, and more than anything." He climbed on top of her, settled his elbows on either side of her shoulders, and pinned one knee between her thighs to make them part. Lips crushed against hers, Liz couldn't ask any more questions. He kissed her like it wasn't foreplay, but was instead the main act, and as if it was imperative that both his lips and tongue memorize every bit of her mouth. She found herself wondering what else he could do with that skilled tongue.

As if Red could read her mind, he pulled away and crawled backwards, slipping off her panties as he went. He hooked her legs over his shoulders and purred with delight at the sight before him. "Shaven, hm? For future reference, it isn't necessary, but I do appreciate a clean work space."

Liz giggled as he dragged his stubbly cheeks along her inner thighs, and then conscious thought escaped her completely. His tongue was very skilled, indeed. After she came, Red kicked off his boxers and kissed his way back up her body.

Still, he seemed intent on taking his time, pressing against her as she nipped along his neck and dug her nails into his back, lifting her hips and doing everything just short of verbally begging for him. Eyes locked on hers, Red finally pushed forward, and then pulled back again. He moved slowly, letting her adjust around him, and going just a bit further with each rock of his hips. When he was finally all the way in, filling her completely, Liz grabbed his hips to still him there for a moment, and then wrapped her legs around his waist. As they began to move in a metronome-perfect rhythm, Liz noticed that he had even synced his breath with hers. His laser-like gaze never wavered.

For a moment, Red's arms wrapped around her back, lifting and cradling her torso, hearts beating erratically against one another. He rolled them over, so that Liz was on top of him. With a groan, she pressed her palms into the pillow on either side of his head, and tried to push herself up into a sitting position. He preemptively wrapped his arms around her back to hold her in place. "I know this must be hard for you, but we can't both lead," Liz said with a sly wink.

"Sure we can, this time." But he relinquished his hold and contented himself with watching her take charge. She set a pace that made it quite difficult for him to hold back, but he tried.

Quite fortunately for both of them, Liz quickly noticed the tension in his brow, and leaned forward to lay on top of him again, slowly rolling her hips. He gripped her waist and applied pressure at exactly the right angle to push her over the edge once more. As her head began to swim, Red let go at exactly the right moment, his throbbing heat triggering the extension of their mutual release.

Curled comfortably against his chest, Liz realized that making love was easily the least complicated interaction that they'd ever had. For the first time ever, she knew that Red had given her the whole truth.

Against her expectations, it was enough.

"I'm still an FBI agent, you know," she whispered into his ear, as if it were a secret.

"Of course you are," Red replied.

"But in case you're wondering, you're much more than just an asset." Hand grazing over his scalp, she pressed her lips to his.

"And you're more than just an agent."


End file.
